The Birth of a Son
by star-eyed cynic
Summary: All the events leading up to and after the birth of Rollo and Gisla's first child. Warning: Contains detailed descriptions of child birth. Canon.


Rollo slipped from the grasp of sleep to the slow awareness of the warmth of his wife beside him. He curled closer to her, and in that moment he was the happiest of all men. His breathing merged in unison with hers and he let his hand drift over her full, round belly. A smile crossed his face as he thought of his child that was in there.

 _His child. His child. His child._ His mind whispered over and over again. What a strange thought. What a strange life.

Not so very long ago he had longed for nothing more than the sweet release of death and the mead halls of Valhalla. Now the very throne of Odin would be a poor trade for what he had here. He was going to be a father, and the woman giving him this title was none other than a princess.

The words of the Seer drifted through his mind, "And the bear shall be crowned by a princess." This was a kind of crown he supposed. It was certainly an honor. He thought back to the time when he was a young man, barely out of his youth, and Ragnar had brought Bjorn before the village to declare him as his own. That was the first time Rollo was filled with envy of his brother. On that day Rollo lied to himself saying that soon he would have this too, he only needed the right woman. But the right woman never came, or always seemed to be in his brother's arms. Time passed and soon he was a man of thirty and childless. Hope faded and he fell into despair.

Then there was Siggy. She had offered him the comforts of the flesh, but not hope. Not love. There was respect there, and sometimes for brief moments affection, but never love. Siggy was gone from him now. Cold and dead, just like his past life.

The death, the loss, and the defeat of Siggy, Lagertha, and Ragnar had left him barren and full of potential. The scars ran deep, like a well plowed field, and good things began to grow.

Rollo now knew what it was like to love and be loved in return. He had tasted the forbidden fruit, and it was good.

He held his wife a little closer and began to settle in for a few more minutes of sleep when a small noise beckoned for his attention.

"Gisla," he questioned.

Her eyes were now open and her face was stoic as if she were trying to solve some great riddle.

"What is wrong?"

"I just had a pain," Gisla admitted to him.

Rollo's sleep laden mind jumbled the words together until he sucked in a breath at the realization of the full meaning.

He sat up and asked, "Is it the child's time?"

Gisla gave the question a moment of thought before answering, "I do not know. It was only one pain."

"Oh, yes. Of course," Rollo said laying back down and feeling foolish.

A restless stillness came over them as they both lay in bed. They were waiting, but neither could say exactly for what. Restlessly they stayed in bed, neither was willing to sleep, and neither was willing to start the day. As the soft gray light of morning began to drift into the room Gisla cried out again.

"Is it the child," Rollo asked, though he felt like he already knew the answer.

Gisla drew her lips into a taught line, and rubbed her hand over her lower belly as she thought. "I do not know. They were so very far apart."

Rollo's mouth twisted in uncertain lines. He did not want to correct her. But things were beginning to seem obvious to him. "I trust your judgment," he told her.

Gisla did not respond. Instead she stared up at the ceiling with her eyebrows knitted together. And Rollo wondered if she trusted her own judgment.

Her body flinched again and he knew she was having more pain.

He gave her a questioning look hoping that she would tell him something. Their eyes met for a brief moment and then she glanced away.

"Perhaps I will feel better if I stand," she said and climbed out of bed.

"Perhaps," Rollo repeated, following her with a nervous eye.

As soon as Gisla's feet touched the ground she began to pace from the window to the bed.

Any doubt Rollo had was gone. It was her time. He had seen it before. Perhaps not with a woman but with a heifer who was off her feed, a mare who was too nervous to be touched, or a nanny goat aimlessly circling her pen.

He would meet his child today. Or perhaps lose them both. His heart grew faint at the thought and he tried to push it from his mind.

He should tell her, he thought. Share his wisdom with her. Though, somehow he thought she would not care for him to compare her to a farm animal.

He was surprised how flighty he was beginning to feel as he watched her walk back and forth, again and again. He knew he did not feel this nervous the last time he had entered battle. At least there he could rely on his own strength, his own speed, his own wisdom. If he failed it was his fault alone. But here he had no control. He could do nothing to help, prevent, or protect. It was out of his hands.

He gave a nervous swallow when he saw Gisla freeze and press a hand to her swollen stomach.

Rollo felt the overwhelming need to do something as he watched her struggle under her own pain. "Gisla," he questioned.

She made no response. Her jaw locked tight in agony. The moment passed. "Yes," she breathed out in a shaky voice.

Rollo got out of bed. Now was a time for action, "Gisla, the child is coming. I will go fetch the women." He tried to keep his voice even as he spoke his words.

"No please, wait a little longer."

"We cannot wait," he said as he searched the room for where he had piled his clothes from the day before. "You must have help."

"No, just wait a while more. We still have some time I think." She started pacing again, as if trying to prove something. Within two steps she was forced to stop again.

Rollo snatched his outer jacket from the floor, and began to tug it on. "Gisla it is time for the child to come. Why do you not want me to get the women?"

Gisla turned to him. Her face grim, and her eyes clouded with tears. "Because then you will have to leave me," she whispered.

Rollo's mind filled with all the disagreements he had had with the midwife. It had been a struggle to even be allowed to see Gisla in the past few weeks. The midwife had tried to insist Gisla be kept away from all men, including himself during this time. It was too much, and he had told the woman he would not be forbidden from seeing his wife in his own home. The midwife had reluctantly agreed. But he knew she had been talking to Gisla in private, urging her to forbid him from being at the birth for the sake of propriety.

Gisla had told him some of this, and even when he asked her to let him stay she had never told him yes or no. She said she would decide on that day. Now it was that day, and she had made her decision. She did not want him there.

His stomach sank. He wanted to beg, urge, argue. It was an anathema that he should not be allowed to be with his own wife, but at the same time he did not want to worry her further.

The sound of water hitting the floor tore him from his thoughts. There was no time left. He would make peace with where he was at the birth later.

"Gisla get in the bed," he said going over to her, hoping that nervousness was not filling his voice.

"I am sorry," she whispered as he helped her into bed.

He was sorry too, but now was not the time for that. He paused for a moment and took her hand. "It will all be over soon. You will be fine."

She gave him a weak smile, that was soon washed away by pain.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She will be fine gods willing, he told himself as he left the room.


End file.
